A Mouth Full of Pearls
by ghost-in-my-closet
Summary: You can not take what has already been given, you can not fight that which submits. Rated for breath play. Please remember to R & R!


Written in a little over one hour! D: I thought typing this fast would kill me for sure! lulz

Rating for mature themes.

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**_A Mouth Full of Pearls_**

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When Bella had been seven Charlie had come to visit them in Arizona. It wasn't a very long stay and certainly not a very pleasant one. Both of her parents still sore over the other's existence, and her mother setting down rules every which way to further restrict her father from spending time with her - being forced to find his own hotel because he couldn't come in the house and then having to wait patiently for a time to see her because her mother refused to rearrange her schedule just because he had decided to visit. And so by the time the two of them had been able to meet both were tired and somewhat subdued, but at his insistence they had gone to the park that was just a few blocks away from the dingy motel he had been able to afford so he could push her on the swings.

What Bella would remember for years after that sometimes lying awake in bed when the nights seemed long and empty, had been the feeling of her father's hands on her back, pushing her with such a strong and steady force to push her higher and higher up into the sky. His large, sturdy hands makeshift wings to propel her up to see the face of heaven.

"You're an angel Bella!" he had laughed. "Tell me what you can see from up there."

Those hands, so impossibly large and strong . . . she still misses them sometimes when she finds that its now _she_ taking care of _him_, and sometimes she recalls them for no apparent reason like today when she finds herself in the care of another pair.

It was stupid really, the two of them alone in the woods and she had told him how he stole her breath whenever he looked at her. Tried to put into words for once that feeling that threatened to consume her world and crush everything that had come before into dust. She knew it had been the wrong thing to say even before the words had left her mouth, and maybe he had said something along the lines of "if you wanted your breath to be taken from you all you had to do was say so" or "so the little lamb thinks she really knows what she's saying" but really all of that pales away in the face of the situation she finds herself in now.

He leans over her and presses his weight fully down so that she can feel every inch of that powerful steal that lays just beneath his skin. Normally it's oh so very carefully leashed, but right now it's focused all of its self, or nearly as much of its self that she can handle without breaking her into a million tiny bits, on her to keep her perfectly still as the hand he has wrapped around her throat constricts, blocking her airway and gently begins to shake her head back and forth, forcing her eyes up to meet his.

She arches back her neck and in response he spreads out his fingers, tightens his grip even further. Surely there will be bruises tomorrow when she looks in the mirror. A gentle reminder of a promise he only hints at now if she lives to see him break it.

And then, a soft laugh from above. "Stupid girl, how can anyone be so foolish?" Ever so slightly he leans down towards her to whisper a lilting, sing-song invitation, "I could snap every bone in your neck like glass if you like."

_Then do it_, she glares up at him and hopes he sees the challenge in her eyes, the dare, this silent and constant knowledge that she has never, nor ever will be afraid of him. _Trust _- the word is silently spoken between them on non existent breath, because she's given that to him to keep too. His to hold onto or his to let go of and only the sick, dull, ache in her belly that beats in time with her heart and the pounding in her ear drums to remind her that when all is said and done that she knows he will make the right decision.

Beneath him she lays perfectly still - there is nothing now in this place and time but _him._ The taste of him in the air when she slightly parts her lips, the feel of his body where he leans against her side pressing thigh to thigh, the sight of his face, looking down on her still so kindly - the beatific expression at odds with the violence of his gestures - through her vision that's starting to gray around the edges.

He moves a bit then, pulling back and in doing so readjusts himself so that he's still standing close to her so as not to give up his hold. But that only presses his leg closer, fitted right up against the crotch of her jeans, and impossibly, her body finds a way to respond to that. All the blood bursting to move around through veins and arteries clamped hard at one end, making her skin overly sensitive and that one touch through even through all the layers of fabric still enough to make her writhe. Because despite what he may do or say she knows what lays beyond the surface of the golden yellow barriers of his eyes - golden shields polished and perfected through time to keep the world out, and yet she pierces them so easily - a barrier meant to be met with force cannot fathom how to be met with acceptance.

He stares down at her as she arches her back and presses herself into his knee, the blood beginning to redistribute at the shock of pleasure sent through her and she would moan if she could. Would open her mouth and ask for more maybe if only there was a way. A cruel laugh from above, and then "So you _like_ this? You're more masochistic than I thought. Although I shouldn't be surprised, after all, it is _you_ we're talking about here."

_Shut up!_ She wants to yell it, to scream it to his face, but his hold is just as sure as ever and so she settles with grinding her teeth instead, glaring up into that perfectly formed face that even now, haunts the deepest, darkest places of her mind and soul.

"Do you think its romantic?" he asks, leaning back down over her now, hot breath stirring against the side of one pale cheek. "Are you telling your self how brave you are Bella? Are you thinking about what a pretty picture you make? If so you're quiet the narcissist - perhaps you'd like to choke on a mouth full of pearls instead if it would satisfy your ego, after all where's all the glamour in just a pair of hands?" And there it is, and she can see the self loathing in that last remark. A wave of longing washes over her again but this time its something utterly different and she wants to hold him to her. Wants to take those hands that have never been anything so mundane as 'just a pair' and press them to her lips. Wants to wash away all the hate and self loathing with something infinitely more simple and deep.

_But if its your hands around my throat_, she thinks, _I'm sure I could already choke on the most lovely things_.

And maybe he sees it in her eyes then, because for a moment he almost looks shocked, as if he's going to let go. But instead he brings his lips down on hers, cold and cruel and everything that makes Edward, Edward and in doing so passes her one more breath to keep her living long enough for him to see through what ever new game this is he's playing. Eagerly she sucks up the air, opening her mouth wide and without question to take in all he can give her.

Another eternity passes, fate dragging by with all its possibilities playing out - folding and unfolding themselves like so many creases in a piece of origami paper, who can say what it will be when time finishes with it? And finally, _finally_, he steps back and lets her go. The air comes rushing back into her body in full force, pain and heat and sensation all crashing down on starved nerve endings and he looks down on her and smiles before walking off in the direction he had been heading towards earlier. Rolling onto her side she pulls the dark curtain of her hair down around her face and squeezes her eyes shut.

_Daddy_, she thinks when she's finally able to form coherent thoughts again, _when I was little I couldn't tell you what I saw when I was up in the sky. So high that it seemed I could fly right up and off of the swing bench. I thought I saw God and all the clouds that ever were. I couldn't tell you . . . maybe I still couldn't, I don't know. But I can tell you what I see from down here on earth, and all the angels in the heavenly host couldn't be as beautiful as the one that pins me to it._

She smiles and lifts a hand to trace forming welts and bruised flesh partially hidden beneath damp, mahogany colored hair before continuing her own train of thoughts.

_You were right Edward, you could never steal my breath away - because you can't steal what is already yours to keep. I've been loosing it to you bit by bit ever since we first met, but if in that absence you're all that fills that void, I know I could die the most peaceful death to be by your side._

And the girl named Isabella Swan continues to lay there on the forest floor for just a minute more, listening as the sounds of thunder begin to hum their slow song in the distance, before sitting up and catching her breath bit by bit in a bread crumb trail that leads her all the way back down to the main road and to where he is waiting.

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Note on the Tittle : The tittle is taken from a Sylvia Plath poem - Edward seems to swing between having the worlds largest ego and worst self esteem. Bella's "death" is a trust issue between the two of them, and somehow if there were someone more "worthy" of Bella I don't see Edward having such a big problem with her being changed if that person were someone he considered to be more like "a mouth full of pearls", a worthy and fitting usher for Bella into their world of death as opposed to him self "just a pair of hands". The problem is Bella's already convinced she's found something just as, if not more, precious to "choke" on.

General Author's Note : Hearing about the whole "Twighlight Craze" I finally decided to pick up a copy of the first volume and work my way through it. The first and most memorable thing that hit me as I was reading was the sexualized aspect of Bella's mentality right from the very beginning. Reading what others had said about the series I was expecting the Daddy/daughter side of their relationship but I wasn't expecting such a strong showing of erotic humiliation (I also suspect Bella would be very into other aspects of D/s such as maybe a little spanking or breath play), and this piqued my interest enough to want to play around with it a little more. I don't really foresee myself writing anything else for this fandom though so for those of you who absolutely hate this at least you're safe. lol I dunno, maybe something else in the far future, who knows? There aren't enough places to explore BDSM in fic anymore and have it be in line with cannon. :P


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